Paramour
by RaveTale
Summary: L had been struggling through the foster system for eight years, miserable and alone, when he was placed in yet another new house in another new town. But this time is different - he finally finds a house he can sincerely call home. He's content, but what happens when his history comes back to haunt him in the form of an old friend from a distant past, bent on revenge? AU. REMAKE.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I wrote this a long time ago and then deleted it… Then regretted deleting it, so here's my go at a bigger and better version of the original!

x

L's cheek pressed flush against the cold of the car's window. His eyes were dim and glassy as he stared ahead, each breath he took fogging the pane before his nose. Slumped against the car door, he was situated so that his back faced the social worker behind the wheel.

"Look," The driver cleared his throat gruffly and pointed ahead.

L did. He twisted his neck ever so slightly, stiff from the cramped huddle he had been in for hours, now. A road sign, announcing that Millstone was not far off. L's heart dipped a bit and then fell completely, hitting the soles of his feet with a crushing thud.

"Excited?" The officer smiled at him. L fixed the man with an utterly stoic expression before flashing him a quick, canned smile. He turned away, then, feeling as if he may be sick on the car floor.

Another town, another house, another family.

He didn't expect to stay here, not for very long.

L drew his knees against his chest and wrapped his arms around them, the fabric of his beaten wind breaker swishing together with the motion. He sighed shallowly and leaned back against the car door, paying a bit more attention to the scenery as it passed by.

Vacant fields, fields with great, round bales of hay, and then trees. A lot of trees. Skeletal trees, trees that reached their starved and bony limbs to a grey sky, trees that were hungry for life and warmth and sun. And then there was a thin and broken layer of snow, coating everything in sight. L blinked owlishly at the world that the windowpane separated him from. The social worker cast the boy a glance and, as if reading his mind, nodded.

"The winter out here isn't too nice. I think it was a bit more mild, down in Rochester." He paused to give L ample opportunity to respond, and then cleared his throat for the second time when the boy didn't. "It's a small town, I know, but I think you'll like it. The air's cleaner out here, and once springs rolls around I'm sure that all of that will really look like something out of a storybook." He gestured to the desolate and icy wasteland out the window.

L ignored him and instead looked farther down the road.

Who said he would stay for spring? The glass of the interface fogged with a quick, outward breath. The last home he'd been in had only kept him for two and a half weeks. The condensation faded from the window as L rasped an inward breath.

"Do you need your inhaler?" The man's voice held undertones of what seemed to be forced concern. L grimaced.

"No." L licked his lips, his voice feeling a bit strained after hours of disuse. He saw the driver open his mouth and felt the need to cut in again.

"You don't need to try and make conversation with me every time we pass a rock, Mr. Fredrick." Mr. Fredrick's mouth snapped shut. L looked down and gazed solemnly at his knees for a moment, then allowed his eyes to flutter shut. It was almost nine at night, and they had begun driving much, much earlier that day.

Mr. Fredrick cleared his throat - again.

"Yes, well, we're almost there." Though L wasn't paying attention to him, he gave a short nod and worked his jaw for a second, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. "Look right up ahead, if you want."

Despite himself, L opened his eyes and glowered ahead, observing a small crop of buildings rising into view. Small, shabby ones made of brick. They looked ancient, in a cute and homely way.

"Welcome to Millstone. Blink and you'll miss it!" Mr. Fredrick grinned. L supposed that what he had told the man about needless conversation had gone in one ear and out the other. He retained his cramped position between the front glove box and car door, not caring for the town they began to pass through, but not without total indifference.

"Who am I going to, again?" L's expression remained unchanged. He wasn't genuinely curious, but the formalities were always handy to know before arrival. He had learned this.

"You'll be living with Samantha, she's very sweet." Mr. Fredrick nodded profusely and showed a sincere smile. "She doesn't live too far from this town here. There's another boy living with her, too, named Near. If I remember right, he's a year younger than you."

L sank very low into his seat, darkening a bit. Placement into foster homes already fostering other kids never did bode well with him. The discomfort of being thrust into a foster-sibling situation had always been more stressful for him than necessary.

"I want to go back to Rochester," L admonished.

"Why?" Mr. Fredrick actually frowned at this. L frowned, too.

He didn't know, he didn't have a single tie, there. He didn't have a single friend. He didn't want to go back to Rochester.

He but also did not want to come to Millstone.

"No, never mind. I think I'll like it, here." L turned and grinned enthusiastically at the social officer. Mr. Fredrick beamed back, the sudden mood change not registering as suspicious in his narrow mind.

L's smile was forced, and every word dripped syrup too sweet to hold any honesty in even a single syllable.

He wanted to go home, that's where he wanted to go. Where he's been aching to go, for so long now.

"We've practically arrived, now!" Mr. Fredrick sat upright and the car sped up a bit. L melted further into his seat, a feat that had been previously thought to be impossible.

Almost as soon as it had picked up speed, the car slowed and rounded a corner. L jerked a bit and caught his balance on the car door as the vehicle shifted from a paved road to a long, gravel drive that wound into the woods. Darkness had long fallen, but the moon illuminated the land with an intense glow.

L looked away from the drive and surveyed the field to his right. Before the car was overtaken by a towering wood, L glimpsed the expanse of grass that bordered both sides of the lane. The nocturnal sun floodlit the region, revealing a wide, rolling field of tall, yellow grass. Fog hung low over the sward, a white and ominous blanket of suffocation.

L pressed his nose to the window, taking in the foreboding and unwelcoming backdrop.

"What was your latest drop-off, do you think? That you've ever had." Mr. Fredrick maneuvered the vehicle over a ceaselessly jostling stone road. "I think we're running a bit behind but it's not too bad, right?"

"I was once placed in a home after one in the morning," L mumbled. "We had been crossing states, though."

"This isn't bad." The social worker clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth when yellow pinpoints of light began filtering through the silhouettes of the trees. "It's only what, half past nine?"

As if answering his own question, the man glanced down at his watch and nodded. L disengaged himself again and straightened his legs, actually sitting up in his seat to watch the house come into view. He propped an elbow up on the car door and ruffled his hair nervously, narrowing his eyes at the place.

It was dark, so details were lost in the gloom, but from L could see, it stood tall and boasted a lot of windows. The front door was wide and red, though simple, and flanked on either side by two pairs of boots. The steps that lead up to said door were concrete and looked a bit dusty, each step bearing a square of black rubber for grip.

The car rolled to a park, parallel to the establishment. The hot air in the car shuddered off and L dreaded stepping from the warm car and out into the chill of a Minnesota November. He took one more look at the house.

There were porches on either side, painted a dark maroon. The door and the shutters that bordered each window were wide and white, holding a faint glow in the darkness. Bushes bordered each margin of the domicile. His eyes bore into every crack he could make out, every fault in the structure, every shadow that hung just so slightly over every crevice in the siding.

The door moved, and L's gaze shifted to observe the owner of the residence as she exited the house and descended the stairs two at a time, hurrying across the lawn toward their car.

L huffed and quickly sank below the window, knees sliding up to prop against the dashboard. His jacket rode up so that it covered his nose and he rolled his head to peer innocently at Mr. Fredrick, who despondently shook his head at the boy before swinging the driver's door open.

Voices struck up as soon as the social worker left the car, and L listened sickly. He'd have rather endured an eternity in a car with Mr. Fredrick's cheery attitude than have to move to another house and bear another potential rejection. Foster parents never liked him, he'd found.

"Oh, L's in the car, he's a bit carsick." Mr. Fredrick's voice mutedly registered within the confines of the darkened car. L pitched to the side and pushed against the back of his seat, sitting up again to peek out the window.

"Oh, what a shame. I've saved some dinner for him, if it isn't too late. Will I need records, or anything?" The woman sounded young. L frowned at this. He hooked a finger on the door's latch and then tugged, kicking it open and swinging his legs around.

The gravel beneath his feet felt pokey and primal. L sneered at the ground, wishing for pavement and proper civilization. There was a shudder and then a lull in in conversation, and then a hearty chuckle from Mr. Fredrick.

"Samantha, this would be L. L, this is Samantha."

L moved shoved his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker - a routine habit he'd developed over the years to avoid any attempted handshakes or physical greetings. None of which manifested.

Samantha, a surprisingly young-looking woman in a baggy sweater and old jeans, grinned.

"Hi, L. You can call me Sammi, if you want." She had a mirthful voice. It was orotund but warm, and very inviting. L shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"You can call me L." He replied quietly, albeit breezily.

"Right! So, if you'd be so kind as to allow us admission, I've his records to give you. Normally they'd be filed away for emergencies, but the medical history is extensive and I've been required to go over them with you." Mr. Fredrick steeped his hands beneath his chin, and Sammi nodded.

L observed from where he loitered beside the car, feeling a bit invisible.

"We could discuss that inside, yes," Sammie smiled. "It's really getting to be a bitter night out here; we're expected to get some more snow in a few days. Please," She stepped back and then turned, heading back towards the house. There was a sort of hop in her step.

Mr. Fredrick followed Sammi and L followed Mr. Fredrick up the steps to the front door.

L stared at the ground all the way, watching intently as his beaten converse first trekked the crunchy, dead grass, then the short concrete walkway, then the dusty steps with the rubber mats. He only looked up when the soles of his shoes touched the rug beyond the door's threshold. He blinked his eyes several times to adjust to the light in the foyer.

It was no doubt a beautiful home. In the foyer, there were two closets directly to the right, and a bathroom to the left. L knew it was a bathroom because the door was open and though the lights were out inside the smaller room, he could see a countertop with an array of soap bottles.

The rest of the level was one large, open room. The foyer lead two ways - lead to a kitchen to the right and a grand lounging area to the left. Both separated not by a wall or series of hallways but a large, gaping hole in the floor. A wooden banister bordered the aperture, which upon investigation, revealed a finished basement below. L followed the staircase to a breach in the banister in the lounging area.

All of this was under a tall, white, a-frame ceiling. Thick, wooden support beams were situated horizontally near the top, high above L's head.

L sucked his lip critically. A beautiful home with unique architecture, maybe, but it was not as extravagant as its potential suggested. He imaged the same layout, but with pristine white furniture and posh carpeting. He pictured flowing drapes in the living room and granite countertops in the kitchen. L sniffed disdainfully at the current arrangement: rustic, earthy tones and Persian rugs. He noted the countless shelves, ornamented with antique gadgets and ancient contraptions.

"I hope you like it here!" Sammi cheerily exclaimed, noticing L's observing of his surroundings. She kicked her sneakers off and then set them neatly beneath a bench propped up against the banister facing the foyer. "Near and I've been cleaning all day. Dusting and everything. There wasa ton of dust, and I know that's no good for you. You know?"

L looked over and stared indifferently at his new foster mother. She really was very young, and had long, sandy hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Her eyes were big and ordinarily brown, but they shone with mirth when she was smiling.

"So how about those files?" She stood and placed her hands on her hips, and Mr. Fredrick offered her a small bundle of labeled, manila envelopes. They talked briefly about what she would need to know, but when Mr. Fredrick warned that they would need to discuss things in more detail Sammi frowned and stood a bit straighter.

"Here, let me show L his room, first. Then we can sit down in the kitchen." She looked over at L, who appeared unimpressed at her hospitality. She smiled. "That way you don't have to stand here and listen to a lecture you've probably heard before, am I right?"

"Sure," L sighed through his nose and crossed his arms as Mr. Fredrick passed him and left the house for a moment, returning with L's duffel bag.

He accepted his belongings and then followed Sammi into the living room. He felt a bit heavier when he saw her turn to the gap in the banister and begin descending the stairs.

"My room's down there?" He lamented, steps slowing slightly. He sluggishly touched his left foot to the first step and then his right to the next. Sammi glanced over her shoulder and nodded.

This is depressing, L moaned mentally. He followed at a crawl. He followed her down the entire staircase and then stopped at the bottom, feeling the shaggy, brown carpeting cushion the soles of his shoes. He looked up and saw the ceiling high above, and Mr. Fredrick waving happily from where he leaned over the balustrade. He looked around the basement, now, and watched Sammi approach one of the doors lining the walls. There seemed to be a central room in the basement, without a ceiling, that could be viewed from the floor upstairs.

The doors alongside the walls suggested that there were rooms surrounding all sides of the main area, though. L padded after his new foster mother, bag slung over his shoulder.

"It's the smaller of the two rooms, but the other is a guest common reserved mainly for my parents, when they visit. Is that okay?" Sammi allowed the bedroom door to swing open and then fumbled along the wall, flipping on the light switch.

True to her words, the room wasn't big. The walls were a pale green and a large bed sported a thick comforter of a matching color. There was a desk tucked into a pocket in the wall beside the bed, a framed mirror hanging above it, and where the mattress ended sat a posh little ottoman. L entered the room and dropped his bag on said ottoman, looking around. The carpeting of the stairs and the rest of the basement gave way to smooth, painted concrete, here. He stared down for a moment at the cream colored cement before stepped off of it and onto the thick, green rug that took up a large portion of the room.

He caught sight of himself in another framed mirror that hung parallel to the bed, and almost immediately looked away from the disheveled image there. Sammi lingered in the doorway, perhaps waiting for some sign of approval. L nodded, slowly and silently. She gave a small smile.

"You're probably tired," She sympathized. "Rochester is a long way south from here. There's a bathroom with a shower right next door if you need it, and I'll be upstairs if you want to talk, okay?"

L didn't respond, and Sammi pushed from the doorframe and stepped farther into the room, reaching out to place a gentle hand on L's arm.

"I really do hope you like it, here. I'm looking forward to getting to know you."

She turned without waiting for a response, as if she guessed that L wouldn't give one. L followed her with his eyes as she left the room and then ascended the stairs again.

Alone, L's gaze absently traced the room. He reached up and folded his arms tightly across his chest, backtracking until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sank down and sat silently on the side of the mattress, staring at the wall opposite him. He felt empty. Muffled voices drifted through the open door from the floor above him, proof that the house had other occupants.

L struggled to reassure himself with this, reassure himself that he was not utterly defenseless in a vacant building. He closed his eyes and brought his arms down, slipping from his jacket and letting it fall to the floor. He took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm down, and then coughed.

He'd take a shower and change into his nightclothes. He would lay down and pretend that the bed he inhabited was not the thousandth in his lifetime. He would sleep and, upon awakening, pretend that he had not been plagued with fitful sleep and nostalgic dreams.

He would endure tomorrow and pretend that it may not be only the first day of a very limited amount of time he would spend here before moving on again.

x

A/N2: All of Sammi's house and property is based off of a house and property I know of in real life, so if you can't exactly visualize what I tried to convey, you could PM me for some video of the area I took while visiting family there this weekend - though if I were the reader I'd rather be left to my own imagination and interpretation. That just may be the way my mind works, though.

Review, please! It seriously helps me update. Really.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The last chapter was written in a hurry, so I've gone back and fixed/changed a lot of things! I'm a lot more satisfied with it, now.

x

When L woke the next morning, it was with a feeling of vertigo. He blinked in the dim lighting and clenched his fists in the unfamiliar sheets, throwing them back so that he could sit up and rub his eyes in alarm. He couldn't make out many of the features of his room, considering the only available light was watery and grey, filtering in through a very narrow, horizontal window situated towards the ceiling on the far left wall. Mentally fumbling to recall where he was, he felt along the edge of his mattress in search of a bedside table. He confirmed the existence of one when his wrist connected with the edge of the tabletop, and he drew back with a pained wince. Reaching out again, he sought for a lamp and upon finding one turned it on, shedding some more light on the room around him.

L's mouth thinned into a hard line. He picked out his duffel bag, lying lopsidedly on the ottoman at the end of the bed. He relaxed a bit and forced air through his lungs, mind working to recall the name of his new foster mother.

Samantha.

Yes, he was in Millstone. This wasn't Rochester. His room in Rochester had been a dingy closet; this was much too spacious to be the same.

L bent his legs, bringing them to his chest. He then wrapped his arms around them and allowed his head to drop until his forehead rested comfortably against the caps of his knees. He breathed evenly until the bewilderment of not knowing where he was ebbed into his normal, day-to-day uncertainty. He lifted his head just slightly and eyed the window that he had not noticed the night before, perhaps because it had been dark out. Now, he could see blades of yellowed grass poking up along the bottom of it. Not much sunlight made it in, but the quality of the light that did suggested that it was because of a cloudy sky.

He hated moving homes. He hated it with a passion. He felt that he would never escape the vertigo of the first morning, the inevitable perplexity of unfamiliarity.

L remained motionless for another small amount of time before unfolding himself and crawling to the end of his bed, where he unzipped his bag and began unpacking. He gathered together his wash kit and a small, red notebook, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed with a long and strained sigh. He stood and made his way across the room, grimacing when he stepped from the plush green rug and onto the cool of the painted foundation.

He flipped the light switch at the door and illuminated his quarters a bit more, then twisted the brass doorknob and let himself out into the basement. The air was cold, and he shivered as he crossed the small distance between his room and the bathroom. Above him, he heard voices moving about the kitchen. He glanced briefly up at the banister high above his head, but was unable to really see into any of the rooms beyond them. He drew his wash kit and planner closer to his chest and looked back down, ignoring the vocalizations on the floor above.

Dropping his kit on the countertop beside the bathroom sink, L stared boredly at his reflection and took four quick, staccato breaths inward. On the fourth, he held his breath for ten counts, and then slowly exhaled for twelve. He did this twice, and then for a minute and a half took deep, filling gasps. His shoulders shook every now and then as he struggled against the urge to cough, which would have interrupted his breathing exercises.

All effort was for naught when his composure broke. Trying to keep his mouth closed and covered, L heaved through a coughing fit that left him short for oxygen. He closed his eyes and turned his back to the sink, sliding down until he was sitting. He reached up, without standing, and retrieved the supplies he'd brought with him. He took the booklet first and leafed through the pages, all scribbled over and noted on, until he reached his newest page.

He then unlatched his wash kit and rifled through it, bringing out a thermometer and several smaller, orange-colored medical boxes. He shoved the glass end of the thermometer under his tongue and, while waiting for the reading, readied his inhaler and drew an array of prescribed steroid capsules from the smaller containers. He was pushing the few pills about the palm of his hand when a creaking noise sounded from beyond the bathroom door, causing L to glance up in curiosity. The sink was situated directly across from the door, giving L optimal view of Samantha as she stepped further into the basement after descending the stairs. She noticed him fairly quickly and made her way over to join him, kneeling over the threshold of the bathroom door.

"Are you okay?" She pursed her lips and fixed L with a look of concern. "Did something happen?"

L shook his head and looked away from her, loosening his lips so that the thermometer tumbled from his mouth and landed crookedly in the palm of his free hand.

"I'm fine," He cleared his throat, words clipped. He observed the thermometer's reading and sighed, finding his notebook and recording the numbers there. The newest addition to a long and continuous list of other temperature readings. L frowned. His temperature was a bit higher than it had been the past few days.

He shoved the booklet away and tossed the steroid capsules to the back of his throat, swallowing hard. He glanced apathetically at Samantha, who still watched him with no small amount of intent.

"This is a morning for me." He stated gruffly. Samantha looked confused for a moment, and then made an 'oh' with her mouth and nodded in understanding.

There was pity there, in her expression, in her movements. L bristled.

"So, hey, breakfast is up in the kitchen. Near and I've been waiting for you to wake up before digging in. If you feel up to it, anyway." The added afterthought was insulting; though L was sure she had harbored good intentions.

"Yeah, I… feel up to it." L coughed lowly and closed his eyes, rubbing at his throat. He then pushed against the cabinet, helping himself up. Samantha stood, too, and then gestured towards his belongings with a smile.

"Do you need help getting that back to your room, or anything?"

"No," L shook his head and stooped to gather his things, then breezily passed Samantha on his way back to his bedroom. The young woman blinked in bewilderment and turned, following slowly. She was unsure of how to approach her newest addition to the family.

L stopped by his bed and allowed his wash kit and planner to fall onto his mattress. Ignoring Samantha, who materialized in his doorway, he dug his favorite red sweater from his duffel bag and pulled it on over his baggy sleeping tee. The pale red of the lived-in cover up complimented his beige, flannel pants and khaki socks.

"Ah, I'm sorry it's so cold down here." Samantha smiled apologetically, pointing at his sweatshirt. L didn't reply, only sighed. He absently remembered his long drive with Mr. Fredrick the day before, and how he had smart mouthed the officer for trying to talk to him so much. He considered doing the same to his new foster mother.

"So," Samantha bit her lip and stepped backward, out of the room. "Hungry? I've made food."

L turned and briskly left his room, passing Samantha again with a curt, "I heard you the first time."

Samantha blinked in surprise, and then followed L up the stairs. She worried idly how well L and Near would kick off, and watched apprehensively as the teen in front of her mount the stairs.

L made it to the top stair and stepped up onto the hardwood floor of the living room, immediately pivoting on his heel and observing the kitchen from the corner of his eye. Across the space that overlooked the basement, he saw a boy seated at the kitchen countertop, perched on a tall barstool.

Samantha joined L at the top of the staircase and whistled, catching Near's attention. The boy looked over his shoulder and blinked at L, watching from a distance as the newer member of the household followed Samantha through the foyer and into the kitchen.

"Near, this is L," Samantha grinned and reached back to pat L's shoulder. L grimaced and ducked away from the contact - a movement gone unnoticed by the woman.

"And this is Near." As Samantha left L and passed Near on her way to the stovetop beyond the kitchen sick, she ruffled Near's curly, white hair affectionately. Unaffected, Near's gaze remained strictly limited to L's person.

L himself looked Near up and down, not sure what to say and quite frankly not worried about saying anything at all. Quickly disinterested, L's lips flattened into a line and he paced forward to slide into a barstool beside the other foster kid of the house.

"Do you have coffee?" L inquired loudly, staring across the kitchen workspace at Samantha, who was at the time looking severely disappointed that Near and L had not struck up some sort of conversation.

"I do, actually," Samantha set down the spatula she'd been holding and reached instead for a half-full coffee pot. "Do you take creamer or sugar?" L nodded and accepted the mug of coffee and additives she handed him.

He diluted the black coffee with copious amounts of creamer, and disregarded Samantha's surprised gawking when he spooned five heaping piles of sugar into the liquid. He stirred the solution for a moment before taking a sip, humming with satisfaction at the sweet concoction.

"My last home didn't allow me coffee," He sighed, mostly talking to himself. Samantha swept by to retrieve the cream and sugar, appearing a bit more at ease after L had spoken for the first time.

"I wonder why," Droned Near, from where he sat slumped beside L. L glanced over and narrowed his eyes critically, gauging the boy again.

"Do you make a habit of speaking your mind?" L leaned against the tabletop, taking another drink of sugary coffee. Near replicated L's position, though L couldn't determine whether it was out of mockery or not.

"Where was your last home?" Near tilted his chin upwards, ignoring L's question. L let loose a small, slow sigh. He pursed his lips.

"Rochester."

"Why'd they move you all the way up here?" Near twisted his neck to peer questioningly at Samantha, who offered a minute smile. When no answer was given there, Near faced L again.

"I don't know. No reason." L had tired of the conversation rather swiftly. Near's eyebrows knit together. He promptly leaned forward even further.

"You can't not know," He protested. "Samantha is special-case."

L looked up at Samantha, who had looked back down the food she was dishing onto plates. She didn't engage in the conversation.

"Special-case," L mumbled.

"Yeah, really out of the way. So what's wrong with you?" Near sat back now, still staring. L understood, for the most part. She did live really out of the way, most of the foster homes he had been to had locations in the city - and only a handful of others had been more suburban. Still, L resented the last question Near had shot his way.

"Nothing's wrong with _me_, what's _wrong _with _you_?" He directed a light glare in the boy's direction. Near stiffened for a moment at the harsh tone, and then returned L's glare full-force.

"I'm under Government intervention," He stated matter-of-factly. "I can't stay with my parents because it's considered an 'abusive' household. I don't have any other family to stay with, so I keep getting kicked around these houses until courts decide whether or not to permanently separate my biological parents and me."

Taken aback, L's face fell. His gaze flickered over Near's figure again, noticing in more detail a large, yellowing bruise that stretched around the boy's lower leg. He had seen it there before, but it hadn't meant anything. Under further examination, he found other, more subtle contusions on areas where skin showed.

He would have been able to understand a more typical situation, a situation like his own, a situation that involved sudden parental deaths. He wouldn't very well comprehend, however, a happenstance in which he would have to live with the fact that his parents were still alive but despised him.

"I have CVID," L finally lamented, breaking the short and uncomfortable silence that had engulfed the room. He took note of Near's lost expression and explained himself. "It's an immunodeficiency. When I was five I caught pneumonia and it took me a really long time to heal." L cleared his throat, the memories of his entire, short-lived childhood still too clear for comfort. "And then when they thought I had, I caught it again only a couple months later."

L sat a bit straighter, and then realized that both Samantha and Near were watching him expectantly. He frowned.

"It took me a few years to shake the worst of it off. And it's still not all the way gone, really, it's kind of chronic." He reached up and touched his chest. "I'm on a lot of medications to repair my lungs from past sicknesses, and I'm on a lot of medications to back up my immune system in general, because it's really hard for my body to prevent and fight off illnesses. I was moved out here because the air is cleaner. There's less germs for me to breathe in."

"So, AIDS?" Near was the first to respond. L reacted with an intense sneer, deeply annoyed at the question he'd been asked so many times before.

"No. CIVD. It's different, it's genetic and it's not contagious. I was born with it, and I'll probably die from it, someday." His voice was grating and defensive, and Near backed off. Samantha cleared her throat from where she stood and held up two plates.

"So, who's hungry? I'm thinking that we could have breakfast and then drive to town; I've got some stuff to get from the grocery store for dinner later." She rounded the center kitchen island and set the plated before Near and L. L looked down at the masterfully crafted omelet and hashed potatoes, suddenly feeling unhealthily hungry.

"Can we stop by the bookstore?" Near was already shoving a forkful of egg into his mouth, promptly staring at Samantha, who smiled and nodded.

"I've got to be back by two o'clock, but it's only ten now so we should be okay. Maybe we could all take a trip to West Plains and go to the bigger bookstore out there, and hit up a café for lunch. West Plains is about fifteen minutes away, it's the closest of the bigger towns around these parts - it's got a theatre and a hospital, pretty much everything we don't." The last statement was directed kindly at L, who wasn't paying attention.

L retreated back into himself, already fed up with the people who shared this house with him. He'd talked more than he had planned to, and promised himself now that he would now make up for his socializing by keeping silent vigil for the rest of the day.

"By the way, Sammi," Near swallowed and set his fork down for a moment. Samantha looked up expectantly. "What I said before about being kicked around to different houses, I didn't mean it like that. I really love it here."

"I didn't think anything of it," Samantha promised with an affectionate smile. "I love having you."

L felt sick, after witnessing the exchange. He felt sick and out of place, isolated and alone in a room hosting three people. He pulled farther into himself and copied Near by dropping his fork, only because he felt like he would toss up anything he continued to eat. He breathed in unsteadily and when the wetness of his congested chest caused him discomfort, he nearly broke down.

He wanted to go home.

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A/N2: Oh my gosh, so I've got past readers following this? This is so amazing, so much thanks to anyone sticking with this a second time! SoShi Love left a review about changes, so I'll address those here for anyone reading this a second time. The storyline will remain almost identical to the first; I'll only be making a few smaller changes. Those include:

1) The building of relationships. I want to be able to work more with the development of interactions between L and the other characters. Though my goal is to eventually establish the same, close friendships of the original fic, I do not want another case in which he and Near are instant-brothers, or him and Light instant-lovers.

2) Near's overall demeanor. I felt like in my first attempt at this story, he was very out of character and peppy. I'm going for a more accurate, apathetic Near, this time around.

3) When I bring the main antagonist into the story, my plan is to make him much more disturbed and maybe a bit more violent than I did in the original story.

I hope that these changes don't overly affect your view of the story; I've thought them over and decided that they'd mostly improve the quality of it all. Ciao!

Please, please review. I appreciate the follows and favorites but reviews are just so motivating. C: Thanks to everyone reading this!


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